


All I Want For Christmas

by Ally147



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ally147/pseuds/Ally147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What about me?" Harry protested, a spectacular pout on his lips. "You should come spend Christmas with me. I don't have anywhere else to go either; we'll be outcasts together!" H/Hr, Post-Hogwarts AU, EWE. Written for the 2014 Christmas Mini Fest on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2014 Christmas Mini Fest on LJ. Thanks again to Kanames Harisen for beta-ing for me again :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**Monday, Dec 16, 2002** _

"Did you get one, too?"

Hermione Granger looked up from her parchment-covered desk and suppressed a wistful sigh at the sight of Harry Potter standing in her office doorway. He leaned against the frame with his legs crossed at the ankles, a wry smile on his lips and a thick, cream-coloured envelope held loosely between two fingers.

Hermione couldn't say with any certainty exactly when her crush on her best friend began. She supposed it didn't really feel as though it had a beginning, rather it was always there, simmering inside her, waiting to boil over.

And boil over it most certainly had.

With a rueful smile, Hermione reached into her desk drawer and retrieved a matching envelope. Contained within it was a short, terse note written in harsh lines with thick, black ink, stating that Hermione's presence at the Burrow this holiday season was unwelcome – as Christmas was a _family_ occasion, of course – and to please refrain from further contact. It was cold, clinical and impersonal, and had felt like a heavy blow to the stomach when she had first read it earlier that morning; facing one of Molly Weasley's legendary Howlers would have almost been preferable to the icy, indifferent tone of the silent note.

"Ron's already come by and apologised," she told him as she set the note down on the desk. "He said he asked Molly not to send it, but…"

"Ginny did the same," Harry said as he kicked off from the doorway and stepped into her office. He braced his hands on the edge of her desk and leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. He lingered near the corner of her mouth before he pulled away with an odd, enigmatic little smile and nearly fell into the plain, functional chair across from her. He righted himself quickly and shot her a self-deprecating grin that sent a flurry of butterflies whirling about in her stomach. It still seemed odd to her that Harry Potter could cause that sort of reaction in her. "I'd hoped Molly would be alright with everything by now. I mean, Ginny and I broke up months ago, same with you and Ron! They're fine, we're fine. Why isn't she?"

"She was planning our weddings, Harry. Before Ron and I split, she showed me her folders full of pictures of my potential wedding dresses and possible cakes," she informed him wryly. "We rather stuffed up her plans, but Ginny and Ron will talk her around, they always do. Besides, there's no possible way Molly Weasley could be angry at _you_ forever. She adores you! Me, on the other hand…"

Harry smiled sympathetically. "It's not like it matters now, I don't suppose. So, how will you be spending your Christmas?"

"At home with Crooks, I guess." Hermione shrugged and tapped out an uneven rhythm against her desk with her pen. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go, with Mum and Dad off seeing the world. They're in Australia now, somewhere south of Perth. I was talking to Mum last night, and apparently it's ludicrously hot over there at the moment. I can't say I'm disappointed to be missing it."

"What about me?" Harry protested, a spectacular pout on his lips. "You should come spend Christmas with me. I don't have anywhere else to go either – we'll be outcasts together!"

Hermione gave a light chuckle. "Forgive me, Harry, but Grimmauld Place is hardly the most festive place."

"Just the excuse we need to spruce it up a little!" He looked at her with big, wheedling, puppy-dog eyes, the sort that had gotten her stuck in all manner of sticky situations in the past. "You love Christmas decorating, Hermione. I know you do!"

Hermione felt a tiny smile tug at her lips.

"Ha!" Harry exclaimed, triumphant. "See! I'm right and you know it!"

"Fine," she relented, rolling her eyes fondly. "I'll come by this weekend. That will allow us plenty of time."

Harry's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Time for what?"

"Time for Christmas, Harry! To plan! Honestly." She clucked her tongue and pulled a fresh piece of parchment from a tray on her desk. "We'll need food, crackers – Ooh, and some fresh holly. I want to weave a wreath this year. And –"

"Hermione." Harry tipped his head back and laughed. "It's Christmas! You don't need to plan it to the last little detail. Just bring yourself and it'll be perfect."

Hermione felt a blush rise in her cheeks at his warm smile. "But if there's no plan –"

"It will be perfect, Hermione," Harry repeated firmly. "Trust me."

She sighed and fell forward so her forehead rested on her desk. "Always, Harry," she mumbled.

"Good." He smiled. "It'll be sort of strange, though," he admitted quietly, and she looked up to see him staring contemplatively out her office window. "I've not had a Christmas without the Weasleys in years – not since we started at Hogwarts."

"Me neither," Hermione agreed. "We did the right thing, though, didn't we?"

"Were you truly happy with Ron?" She shook her head. "Then yes, we did the right thing. Your happiness shouldn't be sacrificed to keep someone else happy, you know."

Hermione drew back in mild surprise. "You mean you weren't truly happy with Ginny?"

Harry sighed. "Not for a very long time. Neither was she, now that we've had a chance to talk about it properly. She's back with Dean Thomas now. Happier than I've seen her in years, too, now that I think about it."

"Lucky girl," Hermione remarked. At Harry's raised eyebrow, she said, "What? Dean's a good looking fellow. I'm allowed to notice."

"Best not tell anyone that, Hermione," he remarked, smirking. "They're all going to wonder what's been done with you."

"Yes," Hermione drawled as she rolled her eyes skyward. "Heaven forbid I look at a boy, lest anyone notice I'm a female."

"I notice," he said, so softly she thought she might have imagined it. He looked down at the floor for a brief moment before looking back up at her with a small smile.

"What's that?" Harry gestured with a jut of his chin to a long, narrow, wrapped parcel on her desk. "A pressie?"

Hermione furrowed her brow in puzzlement. "That wasn't there before." She reached out for the parcel and inspected it length and breadth. There was no note attached that she could see, nothing that would indicate the sender.

"Careful," Harry warned her when she began to shake it. Something inside was loose, and rattled around with infrequent little clinks. "You might break it."

"I don't even know what _it_ is," Hermione grumbled. She set the box down on her desk and glared at it. "What if it's cursed?"

"Then cast a _Finite_ and get on with it!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione removed her wand from her inner pocket and cast the negating spell. She then slid her fingers under the clear tape sealing the festively printed wrapping paper and carefully pulled it away.

"I take it you never tore into your presents as a child?" Harry teased her, one eyebrow quirked.

"It seemed wasteful," Hermione murmured in response as she worked on the sealed corners. The tape covered all along the folds, making it difficult to lift. "Ugh." Hermione tapped the present with her wand, vanishing the paper and revealing a shiny black box. "Whoever wrapped this is hopeless."

Harry tipped his head back towards the ceiling and let out a groan. "Trust you to take more notice of the wrapping, rather than feel flattered that someone brought you a present in the first place."

Hermione glared at him. "You know I don't like surprises."

"All too well," he muttered. "Open it."

Hermione paused in her lifting of the box lid and fixed him with an accusing glare. "You seem far too excited."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And you don't seem excited at all."

"I told you, I don't like surprises!"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I do," he said. "Even if they're not mine. They're fun."

"They're silly is what they are," Hermione muttered as she finally lifted the lid. Her eyes widened at the contents, and she let out a soft gasp of surprise.

"Well?" Harry craned his neck for a better view. "What is it?"

"It's a fountain pen," Hermione murmured, her eyes locked on the shining length of sterling silver sitting atop a bed of black velvet.

"Is it nice?"

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered. She lifted the box and held it carefully to her lamp to better see the twinkling rubies – real ones, she was certain – embedded in the silver clip. "My initials are engraved into it, too."

She looked over at Harry, who had been oddly silent during her moment of quiet appreciation. He was watching her carefully, looking away and out the window the moment she met his eyes.

"Harry?" she prodded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied, looking at her once more. Slowly, a smile pulled at his lips. "So, are you convinced yet? Not all surprises are bad."

"It is lovely." She pulled the pen from the box and signed her signature with a flourish at the bottom of her parchment. "It writes beautifully, too." She let out a sigh and set the pen carefully back down. "It looks so expensive, though, and it seems so frivolous for a pen. I'm not sure I could use it, regardless of how nice it is."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Harry lightly admonished. "Whoever gave you that wants you to use it, not have you lock it away like a showpiece."

"It's a sterling silver pen with bloody rubies in it! Sounds rather like a showpiece to me!"

"What's the point in having something nice if you don't intend to use it?" Harry refuted, a tone of finality to his statement.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She looked down at her pen with a tiny scowl before she picked it up with her sleeve to wipe away the visible fingerprints her handling had left on it. "I'm going to need gloves," she mumbled.

Harry's answering smile was triumphant. "So you'll use it?"

"Like you said, it's a shame if I don't. I don't understand why you care so much, though."

"You're _so_ utilitarian, Hermione," Harry lamented with a great, heaving sigh, as though the fact was a great travesty. "Look around you; plain desk, no personal effects, uncomfortable chairs, bland white paint. You deserve nice things, even if they come from an anonymous source." Harry tilted his chin up towards the box. "Or, perhaps, not so anonymous."

She glanced back down at the box and noticed for the first time the crinkled corner of a piece of paper sticking up from between the wall of the box and the velvet bed. "There is a note," Hermione whispered. She lifted the velvet bed and found a messily folded scrap of paper. White, smooth paper, too, she noted with surprise. Not the coarse, rough texture of parchment that she had become accustomed to on her entry to the wizarding world. With shaking hands, Hermione unfurled the length of paper, her eyes widening at the words written upon it in a messy scrawl.

_You are incredible, Hermione Granger._

**XXX**

_**Saturday, Dec 21, 2002** _

"Harry!" Hermione scolded as she unfurled her scarf from her neck and hung it on a hook by the door. She paused in the doorway and glanced disapprovingly about the long, narrow entrance hall. "I thought you would have at least dusted the place!"

"I'm pants at household spells, Hermione," Harry reminded her, a tiny, warm smile quirking his lips as he lingered near the doorway. "You knew that coming in."

Hermione let out a little snort. "An inability to cast a simple dust removal spell doesn't mean you can't wipe the surfaces down by hand!"

The tiny smile spread into a wide grin as he ushered her in and closed the door behind them. "Now, Hermione, what sort of wizard would I be if I did anything by hand when I have a perfectly good wand at my disposal?"

Hermione sighed and began to unbutton her coat. "An extraordinarily lazy one, but hardly an uncommon sort, unfortunately. Now, do you have decorations?"

"I do." He nodded. "The decorations stored in the attic were rather ratty, though, and not all that festive – I guess the Blacks and I have very different ideas about celebrating Christmas – so I went into Muggle London earlier and got tinsel, baubles, fairy lights –"

"And a tree?" Hermione cut in, draping her cloak over her arm. "You did get a tree, yes?"

"No. I thought we could decorate the hat stand," Harry retorted in a convincing deadpan before he turned and beckoned her to follow him down the hall towards the parlour. "Of course I got a tree."

"A fresh one?" Hermione prodded as she trotted along beside him. "You know it's not the same without the scent of pine."

"Not nearly as flammable, either."

"Harry!"

She could almost hear him roll his eyes. "You know I did, Hermione! You asked for a fresh tree, remember?"

"Of course I remember!"

"Good. Like I told you before, just bring yourself and it'll be perfect. That applies for today when we're decorating as well as Christmas day itself."

Hermione let out a deep breath. "Fine."

"Good." Harry smiled and held out his hands and took her cloak, folding it over his arm. He set his free hand against her lower back, sending a series of shivery little tingles down her spine, and gently steered her towards the kitchen. "There's tinsel and things in here if you'd like to get started. I'll be there in a second."

"Alright." Not before sparing one last, lingering glance back at Harry as he turned back towards the coat rack, Hermione pushed her way inside the tall double doors to the kitchen. A large box filled with fluffy tinsel in an array of colours sat waiting on the bench. She grinned to herself and immediately pulled forth the long, golden garlands and draped them over her arm.

A small thump and a muttered curse caught her attention. She dropped the tinsel back into the box and poked her head out the doorway and glanced down the hall. "Harry?" she called. "Is everything alright in there?"

His footsteps sounded down the hall, and he reappeared. Her stomach lurched at the sight of a small, wrapped box held firmly in his hands. "This fell from one of your pockets," Harry said as he held the box out for her. "One of your coat pockets, to be more specific."

"How did it get there?" Hermione wondered aloud, her brow furrowed as she took the small box from Harry. She hefted its weight between her hands and glared at it suspiciously. "It's been charmed. With a featherweight charm, and shrunk, too, I think."

"It would have had to if it was in your pocket. Someone must have slipped it in there," Harry suggested. "Maybe someone behind you in a line, or maybe someone broke into your office while you were at lunch?"

"That sounds horrifying." Hermione shivered and shook her head. "Do you really think there are people skulking about my office while I'm not in there?"

"The smart money would be on Terry Boot," Harry said with a smirk. "He's a nosy bugger, but he's slack. I doubt he'd go through this much trouble to woo you. Besides, it's the same wrapping paper that the pen was wrapped in; do you suppose it's from the same person?"

"Maybe," Hermione allowed as she sunk down on one of the overstuffed high chairs that lined the kitchen bench. "But why?"

"I think someone might be trying to get your attention," Harry replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Someone's got a crush on you, Hermione Granger!"

Hermione looked at him through narrowed eyes. She jumped from her seat and took long strides forward until she was scant inches away from Harry's face. "What do you know, Harry?" she hissed. "Do you know who's doing this?"

Harry rolled his eyes and set his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing tiny circles over the bone at the top of the joint. "I don't know anything, Hermione. I'm drawing a conclusion based on the facts in front of me. Why must you assume the worst? Can't you just enjoy getting presents from someone who obviously wants to make you happy? It's not a bad thing, is it?"

"I… I'm just not used to this sort of thing, Harry!" She stepped out of his hold and paced the long length of the Black kitchen. She could distantly hear Kreacher muttering from his little room under the cupboard, and could occasionally make out the words 'Mudblood', 'traitor' and 'unworthy'. "People don't give me anonymous gifts! People don't even spare me a second glance as I walk down the street."

"Not that you see," he replied, his eyes serious. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied at her with such unflinching intensity that she had to look away. "Is it so hard to believe that someone might like you in that way? Dare I say, that someone might love you?"

"I need something _tangible_ , Harry," she said, imploring him to understand. "Random, anonymous presents are lovely, I assure you, but if someone does in fact have feelings for me, I want them to tell me. I don't want them to be afraid of me, or feel as though they have to hide. I want them to want me!"

Harry glanced down at the floor, his lips pursed and his expression contemplative. After a short pause, he looked up again, a small smile quirking his lips. "Well?" he asked. "Are you going to open it?"

Hermione stared at the box with a scowl. Slowly, she pulled at the ribbon and carefully pulled apart the taped-down flaps of festively printed paper, revealing a box much the same as what the silver pen had been in: small, shiny and black. Removing the lid, she found what looked like a small notebook. She tipped the little book into her hand, and automatically felt the tingle of magic as the book expanded in size, and the golden, cursive font embedded in the rich, burgundy-coloured leather cover was legible once more.

" _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ _,_ " she whispered. She carefully opened the inner cover and her eyes widened. "It's… Merlin, it's a first edition – and signed!"

"Is that a good thing?" Harry asked, peeking over her shoulder.

She tentatively ran her fingers over the cover, tracing the embossed title on the spine. "Harry… it's exceptionally rare! Not to mention incredibly expensive."

"I'd imagine so," he said with a small smile. "Is there a note?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't look." Hermione set the book gingerly down on the mahogany hall table at her side and turned her attention back to the box. Obscured by a loose flap from the velvet lining was another scrap of that same smooth, white paper, with the same messy scrawl written upon it. On closer inspection this time, the writing was vaguely familiar, but the flustered tears that filled her eyes made the script difficult to place at that particular moment.

_You are beautiful, Hermione Granger._

**XXX**

_**Tuesday, Dec 24, 2002** _

Christmas Eve was appropriately cold and white, with soft, powdery snow falling about the garden, turning it into a picturesque, postcard-like scene. Hermione felt that the garden of number twelve, Grimmauld Place should always have a dusting of snow about it – something to soften the harsh, straight lines and hide the plants knowingly chosen by generations of Blacks for their notoriously toxic qualities.

"You should rip those out," she commented idly to Harry from her place in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the parlour. She blew the steam from her hot chocolate and watched the melting marshmallows grow little halos around them as they softened and disintegrated in the heat.

"Rip what out?" he asked from where he sat in front of the fire, trying to get it started with a litany of muttered curses and repeated, unsuccessful attempts at the _Incendio_ charm.

"The ivy, the monkshood, the oleander." She took a sip of her hot chocolate and let out a satisfied sigh. "They're quite poisonous, you know."

"But they're all known for their properties in certain potions, particularly the monkshood," he pointed out with a grin. Another wave of his wand, and a fire finally took off in the hearth, engulfing the small lengths of kindling. Smiling triumphantly, he took a sip of his own drink and cradled the mug in his hands. "You would really stand idly by and watch me get rid of them when you know the good they could bring?"

"You could donate them, I suppose," she mused after a moments' pause. "Sprout might appreciate them, or even Neville. You just don't seem the sort to grow poisonous plants, that's all."

He lifted a single shoulder in a shrug. "Gardens don't interest me, really. Kreacher maintains it alone, charms them all not to freeze and die in this weather. But you're right; I don't want to grow poison – Merlin knows what the Black family did with those plants."

"Killed their enemies at afternoon tea, I'd wager," Hermione casually remarked as she moved to sit beside him. "Probably at some terribly polite affair, over cucumber sandwiches, Earl Grey tea and stiflingly puerile conversation."

Harry snorted. "I can hear the society lunches the next day now." He cleared his throat and went on in a high pitched, exaggerated soprano, "'Did you hear? So-and-so passed away. Ghastly business, and so young, too. Please pass the tea.'"

Hermione let out a giggle and elbowed his side. "Harry!"

He grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes closing as she basked in the warmth of the quickly growing fire and Harry's body.

"This is alright, isn't it?" he asked quietly, his hand running up and down her covered arm as he rested his cheek against her hair.

"This is wonderful, Harry," she whispered, not even bothering to open her eyes. The warmth, the satisfaction from their earlier meal, the contentment from her hot chocolate with its perfectly squidgy marshmallows and Harry's gentle, nearly teasing touches were lulling her into a lovely state of sleepiness.

"No, I mean – not that it's not great that you like this and all – but I meant, is this okay without the Weasleys?"

"This is perfect without the Weasleys, Harry," she assured him. "The Weasleys didn't make Christmas for us, and there's absolutely no reason why we can't celebrate the holidays without them."

She could feel his cheek pull up in a smile. "Good. I'm glad you agree. I think this is the most at home I've ever felt during the holidays, even with the Weasleys around."

She sighed and snuggled even closer, enjoying their proximity. "Me, too."

"Can I…?" He hesitated and let out a muttered curse. "Can I give you your present now?"

She shifted out from under his chin and looked at him curiously. "Why?"

He only shrugged, the fire casting a warm glow about his face and reflecting back in his glasses. "I'd just like to get it over with."

"Get it over with?" she repeated with a laugh. "It's an exchange of presents between good friends, Harry, not some sort of dull, tasking chore."

He stiffened, and she was surprised to see a light sprinkling of sweat dotting his upper lip. "I don't know if you're going to like it," he said quietly.

She gave a nervous laugh and took her hand in his. "So long as it's not a broomstick, Harry, I'm sure I'll love anything you give me."

He squeezed her hand gently and set down his mug. "Alright."

Without letting her go, he pulled her up to her feet with him. His left hand reached across his body to his right pocket, where he pulled from its depths a small box covered in paper so familiar her stomach took a steep, diving swoop. He rolled it between his fingers for nearly a minute in complete silence before he squeezed it and held it out for her.

"Open it."

Trembling hands took the box from Harry's hand and indelicate fingers tore the paper from it to reveal a small, royal blue box. Her breath caught in her throat, Hermione lifted the lid to reveal a beautiful, snowflake shaped pendant hanging on a fine, silver chain, studded with countless –doubtlessly real – tiny diamonds that sparkled brilliantly in the firelight.

Soundlessly, she gently removed the necklace from the box, pulling the chain free from the little slits in the foam where it was held, and held it in her hand.

"Harry," she breathed. "Harry… it's –"

He cut off her words by taking the necklace from her hands and carefully fastening it around her neck. His fingers were cool where they lifted her hair from her neck, and they lingered around the nape of her neck for a long moment before they fell back down to his sides. "Look under the foam bit, Hermione."

Her fingers just would not stop shaking, even as they lifted up the small square of foam to expose another scrap of smooth white paper. She lifted it and unfurled it, reading the messy words upon it in the script she could now kick herself for not identifying earlier.

" _I love you, Hermione Granger._ _"_

It took Hermione a moment to realise that those words had been spoken aloud. Slowly, her eyes widened to an almost comical point, and she looked up to find Harry looking at her with a shy smile on his lips.

"Harry?" she whispered. "I… it was you?"

"Of course it was me, Hermione," Harry said softly. "I put the pen on your desk when I leaned over to kiss you hello. I had the book shrunk and in hand when I took your coat from you when you came over to help me decorate. I was always going to give you that necklace tonight, Hermione; I decided on that months ago. Just as well, too, given your insinuation that I'm too cowardly to come forward."

"Why the subterfuge, Harry?" she asked as she ran a finger over the ornate snowflake. "You could have just said something."

"Where would the fun have been in that?" He took a bold step forward, and then another. "You might have found it annoying, Hermione, but you enjoyed the mystery of it." His mouth was barely an inch away from hers, and she could feel his warm breath against her lips when he whispered, "Admit it."

A tingly shiver worked its way down her spine as her eyes shuttered closed. "I did."

She didn't have to open her eyes to know he was grinning with triumph.

"I wasn't scared, Hermione," he whispered. "Or, I might have been a little bit – how do you tell your best friend that you're in love with her? – but that's not why I did things how I did. I'm not good at seduction of romance or anything like that, and I thought presents would be nice. I asked Gin and Luna for advice, and they assured me that anonymous presents with nice notes were terribly romantic, so long as they were presents that showed how well you know the other person, anyway."

"I hadn't told anyone my favourite book was _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ ," she admitted, peeking up at him. "And the pen was beautiful."

"I've noticed your aversion to quills," he told her with a wink. "And you've mentioned before how much you love winter. A snowflake pendant might be a bit of a cliché, but I think it works."

"It works," she confirmed, fingering the charm where it sat at the base of her throat. "It's beautiful, Harry, but it's all so _expensive_. Everything you've bought me so far… I'm not worth all that, Harry."

"You're worth all of it and more, Hermione," he declared. "It wouldn't have mattered if those things cost me five Galleons or five thousand." His voice lowered to a low, husky register, and her breath hitched in her throat as he went on to whisper against her ear, "I would have bought them anyway if I thought they might make you smile."

He pressed slow, careful, tentative kisses to her ear, her temple, her cheek and down her chin. She thought perhaps he was waiting for her to tell him to stop, and she couldn't imagine why he thought she would do something so stupid. Instead, she leaned into him and clutched at his shoulders to keep from falling under her suddenly weakened knees, silently inviting his touch and his lips.

He pulled back slightly and looked at her with wide, questioning eyes. She nodded once, and he let out a broken breath. He trailed his fingers over her cheek and down her neck, and her breath caught as he lightly tickled the sensitive skin there. He drew closer and closer, his forehead pressing invitingly against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed and her breath hitched when she felt his lips brush hers over and over again – light, teasing caresses that were barely kisses at all. She let out a tiny whine, and Harry growled softly in response, curling his hand around the back of her neck to hold her steady as he kissed her properly for the very first time.

"For how long?" she asked, breathless, when he finally pulled away. She wanted to smirk at the picture he made: mussed hair, swollen, reddened lips, flushed cheeks, and bright, burning eyes, but she knew she didn't look any better.

"Honestly? I haven't a clue," he admitted. "I don't really think it's something that ever started, if you get what I mean. I think I've always felt this way, I've just been too dim to really notice."

She smiled and brought a hand to cup his cheek. "I know exactly what you mean."

His eyes met hers, wide and bright. "You… what? You do?"

Her smile widened, and she nodded. "All too well."

He grinned and kissed her again, quick, firm and chaste, before he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned into his chest and let out a soft, happy sigh.

"You're wrong, by the way."

He looked down at her and quirked a brow. "About what?"

"You said you were no good at seduction and romance. I'm inclined to disagree."

"Oh?" he questioned playfully as he twirled one of her curls around a finger. "And why's that?"

"Aside from the fact that I'm feeling thoroughly romanced and seduced by you right now, you never needed to be. I've loved you for as long as I can remember, Harry – first as a friend, and then as more. I don't need the trimmings or the presents, I just need you, and you are perfect as you are."

He grinned and kissed her again, lingering for a long moment against her lips. "Perfect, huh? I might be inclined to agree with you, Miss Granger. You're rarely wrong, after all."

She left out a little snort and lightly slapped his chest. "Prat."

"Maybe, but I'm your prat."

Hermione smiled and wrapped her arms around his middle. It was shaping up to be a very Merry Christmas indeed, and it looked like she was getting exactly what she wanted. "Always, Harry."


End file.
